


Coming to Terms

by clearinghouse



Series: The Family of Lord Lestrade [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Consensual, Flirting, M/M, Polygamy, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: The trip to the country is over, and Sherlock and John’s secret desires have been revealed, though they are still hesitant to act on them. Perhaps spending more time with Mycroft and Greg will help.





	

“Have you been in here all night?” John asked, closing the seal of the greenhouse door behind him.

“Is it morning?” Sherlock asked. The focused eyes behind Sherlock’s safety lenses did not look up from the half-dead plants spread out on his workbench, nor did he drop the pipettes in his hands. “I am nearly finished.” A want of sleep was evident in his voice.

Concern dripped profusely from John’s voice. “Your experiment will still be here after a few hours of sleep, I trust?”

Sherlock was quiet. He hesitated for some moments, and then laid down his work.

“I missed you, last night,” John said at last, with sweetness, but also with severe emotion.

The words were poignant enough to make a proud set of shoulders to slump. “I know.” Helpless frustration compelled Sherlock to lay his palms on the table before him. “I am sorry.”

“Ah, no, I don’t mean to say you did anything wrong!” John hurried to Sherlock’s side. “I was only wondering, is everything okay?”

Sherlock removed his lenses and his gloves moodily. He vacillated between answering John’s question and remaining silent.

John hesitated. “How you’ve been feeling lately… It’s to do with Mycroft, isn’t it?”

In a sudden flash of action, Sherlock spun on John. His hands gripped John’s shoulders close to him, making John acutely aware of Sherlock’s proximity. “What did you three do?”

“Do?”

“While I was away tonight! What did they do with you?”

“Nothing,” John answered with honest innocence.

In a hot whir, Sherlock’s fingers ascended to just under John’s ears, where they stroked lightly. “Quite so, that was a foolish question. They never do anything serious when one of us is away.” Sherlock bent slightly, with his head down, and angled John’s head up. A blush stole onto John’s face at their closeness. The plants had lost their importance. Sherlock was studying him now.

John flinched shyly at the attention. Although he was slowly gaining confidence, the explosive quality of Sherlock’s every action, and of the light in his eyes, conspired to keep John forever off balance. The fingers caressing delicately at the corners of his face sent shivers through him.

Sherlock whispered, “Where are they now?”

“In bed, last I saw. The sun isn’t up yet.”

“They are asleep?”

“Yes.”

An aura of moroseness wrapped itself around Sherlock. “Yes, of course. I… I shouldn’t stay here. I will go to sleep, also.” He touched his lips to John’s, and kissed him, melting him with his fiery heat.

John’s arms came around Sherlock, holding him, trying to be closer to him, for him.

The gesture was well received, and some of the sadness hanging over his dear Sherlock was lifted. Sherlock breathed gently, “I regret that I inconvenienced you all.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John murmured. He didn’t care about anything like that. He only cared about Sherlock’s wellbeing. When the strength of Sherlock’s kiss began to flag, John took the opportunity of the moment for himself. He kissed Sherlock, filling those kisses with promises of love and acceptance as best he could. Sherlock was pliant in his arms, giving in completely to John’s kindness.

Still, there was a tension in Sherlock that refused to be shaken. 

It was an ages-old tension, John thought. Granted, it had been weakened, but it was still there. It was the guilt that had convinced Sherlock to hide from the bedroom. Weakened, but still strong enough to compel Sherlock to forgo the kindness and warmth of the three dearest to him in favour of losing himself in his work.

John clasped Sherlock’s hands with his own. “Everything will be okay,” he promised. 

That seemed to help. Sherlock smiled a little. 

Sleep, first. Later, John was sure, he and the other two would help Sherlock work through the last remnants of those barriers around his heart.

\--

Greg was relieved to the point of sickness when he found Sherlock sleeping next to him in the morning. With overt fondness, Greg kissed Sherlock on the head, and got himself out of bed.

The relief was deep, indeed. Sherlock’s low mood the day before hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice. Sherlock hadn’t been with them last night, and though they’d known where he had run off too, Greg hadn’t known why Sherlock was off working at so dark an hour. Neither did Greg know what exactly was bothering Sherlock in the first place. However, there wasn’t a chance that he’d let it slide for a minute more. Sherlock would never be left desolate and alone for long, not in Greg’s house.

Greg sighed. Wearing only his dressing gown, he went out of the room to find his helpmates.

John and Mycroft were to be found sitting together, in the living room. It was more often than not that the four of them met in this room in the morning to share a cup of coffee or tea before they grouped or split up to their various schedules. The coffee was present, though the atmosphere was entirely wrong. 

His first husband and his—third husband?—sat very near one another on a sofa. John was in Mycroft’s lap, more or less, having his hair stroked and being hummed to. John’s posture was all politeness, though he did not seem uncomfortable. The two were fully dressed, and each owned a cold half-cup of coffee, which had been left on the small table near them.

Greg’s pulse fluttered with affection. It moved him deeply that Mycroft would be so openly tender with John, very nearly a piece of Greg himself. “Hey, you two.”

Mycroft said, “Ah, my dear Greg—”

“No, no, please, you stay where you are.” Greg sat opposite them on an armchair that he pulled close to them, wishing very much to not disturb their arrangement. “What’s up?”

“Well, we were just talking about Sherlock,” John said, failing entirely to explain his current position and proximity to Mycroft.

“Do either of you know when Sherlock got in last night?” It could be the case that John had asked to be held. Maybe John had expressed regret about Sherlock, and Mycroft had deigned to reassure him. Or, Mycroft had asked to hold John. Perhaps Mycroft had needed someone to cuddle, and John had kindly obliged.

“Four hours ago,” John answered.

Greg blinked, until he remembered what he had asked. That’s right. Sherlock. Four hours in bed. That wasn’t great, but it wasn’t too bad, either. “All right. Do we know why?”

“Not precisely,” Mycroft said. 

John agreed. “We can guess, but the only sure way to know is to ask him. As soon as he is awake, we were,” he began to slow his speech, “um, going to ask him,” until he paused completely in his words. “Greg?”

“Huh?” Greg had been staring very pointedly at Mycroft’s stroking hand, and hadn’t realised it. He scratched his head and grinned apologetically. “That’s awfully cute, how you have John there.”

Mycroft blushed, as one might at having a fetish discovered.

“At least it puts my height to use,” John remarked.

Greg burst out into a thick laughter, full of surprise at the audacity of the joke. “Is that right, John?”

The appreciation made John shy. “Yeah. Well—”

“John,” Mycroft said, levelly, “came in to join me for a cup, and was kind enough to oblige my admittedly unprompted request that he sit with me in this fashion.”

Even though Greg had indeed considered that possibility already, such a story still had all the airs of being too wonderful to be true. “Really?”

Mycroft glanced sidelong. “You see, holding John, it seems to brings me… peace,” he said, his tone uncertain.

“And I don’t mind.” Far from minding, John was smiling radiantly. 

“That’s great, then,” Greg said. “You two are adorable like that. But, then, I take it you’re not feeling at peace, honey?”

A dusting of shame choked Mycroft’s throat. “Oh, I do not mean to worry you.”

“I have to ask. Is it about Sherlock?” Greg bit his lip. “And more than about him being in a mood yesterday? You know what I’m talking about.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened, not unlike like those of a criminal caught in the act.

Greg sighed. They had only returned from the trip to the country yesterday, and yet there had been almost no discussion of what had happened in his cousin’s otherwise unremarkable house. Sure, they’d talked about other things, and had had some more fun since then, but nothing substantial had gone on between the brothers. Greg had assumed that the two of them merely needed some time to get adjusted to their new understanding before they were comfortable with it. Silly him. He should have learned by now that to assume such things was a risk not worth taking.

Though, it was tough to see what problem remained, exactly. Sherlock’s desires had been exposed, and Mycroft’s acceptance of those desires had been made exceedingly clear. Greg doubted that Sherlock had lost those feelings as soon as he’d had a single night with his brother. So, why had they kept their distance since then, and what sorts of tensions continued to pull at them now?

“Hey, is that why Sherlock was acting funny yesterday, and last night, too?” Greg realised. “Is it related to that thing you and he have going on?”

Mycroft murmured uneasily to himself. “Yes. The thing.”

John brought Mycroft’s arm around his own stomach, encouraging Mycroft to comfort himself by hugging him. Greg loved the sight of it.

Glowing with gratitude, Mycroft did exactly as John had wordlessly suggested. His knees crowded John in, and his hand caressed down John’s side. “Thank you, John.”

John was only too happy to be of service.

“Now, then.” Mycroft inhaled sharply and steadied himself. “It is true that the circumstances between me and Sherlock as they stand are not quite… decided upon. He has not kept away from me, and yet, he hasn’t made any requests of me since that night—” Abruptly, Mycroft’s grimace crept into what was almost a familiar smirk. “Greg?”

“Huh?” Greg shook his head to bring himself back to concentration, and chuckled. “Ah. I got distracted again. You two are incredibly distracting, sitting like that together. You were saying?”

This time there was an intrigued rise to Mycroft’s brow.

John was also pleased, and made shy again by Greg’s continued admiration. “We can wait, um, until Sherlock gets here. Before we talk too much about it.”

Mycroft wasn’t so sure. “He may not wish to talk about it, however.” His brow knitted. “But I would not wish to exclude him, either."

“Both good points,” Greg remarked. There was no denying that this was a tricky business. “How about you, sweetheart? Would you be all right with us talking about it?”

Mycroft was startled by the question. “Me?”

“Yeah. You’re definitely involved in all this, too. And, I don’t want to presume anything here. I know there are some things that you and your brother need to say to each other. If you two want privacy, we’ll understand. Well, I’ll understand.”

“Greg…”

“Me, too,” John agreed. “Whatever you need, or don’t need, I’ll understand, too.”

Mycroft wondered at them. “You two are very understanding.” He bowed his head. “Very understanding. I cannot possibly express my gratitude. I realise that Sherlock’s desires are… not to be expected, and not within the norm. This development may prove to be… an awkward one.”

“I think I get what you’re getting at,” Greg retorted with a grin, “but you don’t need to be embarrassed about it.” Greg stood up, and came over to kneel in front of Mycroft. He put a hand on Mycroft’s knee, and beamed brightly at him. “It’s pretty great, honestly, if it’s what Sherlock wants, and what you want.”

But his first husband only looked away again in distress.

That was alarming, and confusing. Greg shared a look with John, who only shrugged, equally baffled. “Mycroft,” Greg tried, “you want this, right?”

Mycroft bit his lip. “I want for Sherlock to be happy.”

“But besides for that, do you want what he wants? The, uh… the not-within-the-norm bits?”

The answer he got was pathetically flat and hushed. “I... don’t know. This is all very new to me. What I did for Sherlock, in the other house…” He closed his eyes. “I had never before done.”

Immediately Greg and John shared another look, of a starkly different character. Greg knew that the guilt and sympathy he was reading in John’s face was reflected in his own. Both of them had already invested themselves in cheering on the close intimacy of the two brothers. Neither of them had supposed that only one brother wanted that kind of closeness with the other. 

\--

At least John could feel better knowing that Greg, too, had already been looking forward to witnessing more of the beautiful scenes like the one that Mycroft and Sherlock had shared at the summer house, guilt and all. It was odd, in a way, that Mycroft was the only one of the three of them who was having trouble accepting what he had done to Sherlock.

Or, was it odd? 

John felt an urge to ask if Mycroft had difficult feelings about that tying-up fantasy of Sherlock’s, too, of which John had seen but a peek. He decided to shelve it for now. The situation was confusing enough without throwing that one in, too.

“That’s fine, of course, if you feel that way,” Greg said to Mycroft.

“Don’t imagine that I’m averse to Sherlock’s wishes, in any way!” Mycroft added hastily, once Greg had spoken. “I would do anything he asked of me, and gladly. It is only that this is an unprecedented development. Matters are very complicated.” He straightened John’s hair pensively, and John could have shuddered at the joy of knowing he was still useful. “He is my little brother, after all… and…”

“Yeah?”

But whatever Mycroft was planning on saying, he did not say. “Forgive me. I need to think.” 

“No problem.” Greg stood up. Ignoring John for the moment, he took Mycroft by the chin and gave him a loving, accepting kiss. Mycroft returned it with all the gratitude he could express. 

John got a face full of Greg’s dressing gown, and its musky, inviting smell.

Greg realised almost immediately. “Oh, sorry about that, John,” Greg laughed and pulled back. “Maybe I should go get dressed.”

In a disorienting daze of affection and want, John stared at Greg and said nothing.

“Greg, dear?” A half-panic sparked inside of Mycroft. “I didn’t mean to say you should leave.”

Greg reassured Mycroft with a smile. John could feel the calm settling in the anxious body behind him, even while the infatuated, confused daze in his own form lingered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” Greg said. He turned on his heels and left the room.

But the intoxicating smell of John’s best friend remained. John could be close to Greg if he asked for it, he knew. Greg had made that point quite clear to him, when he’d shared such a depth of intimacy with him that night. John could ask for an encore. For him to think that he could make such a bold request of Greg, and that it would be a welcome one, took the breath out of him. To think that he could want to make such a request, that was simply unfathomable. Nothing before in his life had prepared him for that particular kind of friendship. 

“Thank you, John,” Mycroft said, “for sitting with me.”

“Oh?” John had to clear his head, for now. “Sure.”

“You’ve been very kind.” Mycroft ceased to toy with John’s hair, and only hugged him gently.

“Do you like holding Sherlock like this?” John asked before he could think twice about asking.

Thankfully, the question did not disturb Mycroft. “You’ve caught me. I’ve always been rather keen on such gestures. My predilection surprised Sherlock, when he learned of it, for I suspect he could go without gestures, though he is tolerant of my inclinations.”

John wanted to laugh at such a claim. “Sherlock, going without touching? That’s hard to imagine!”

“Is that right?” Mycroft wondered. “It is remarkable, then, how much he needs you.”

“Not just me,” John retorted hastily, though he was struck by the sadness underneath Mycroft’s words.

“Ah, you needn’t worry about that. I am delighted that you and he are so close.”

“But… isn’t that what this is all about? Sherlock wanting to be closer to you, also?”

The sentiment seemed to please Mycroft, and frighten him as well. He stilled further, and John grew aware of the shallowness of Mycroft’s breathing behind him. “How close does he want to be, do you think?”

“Uh…”

“I would give him whatever he desires of me, you see. However, I must be careful. I mustn’t… overstep.”

That was a very singular choice of words. John turned around, and looked at Mycroft. “Overstep?”

The sudden direct attention from John made Mycroft quite unsure of himself. “It is not clear what exactly he wants, is that not so? I understand that he has a certain jealousy, but how far does jealousy go? If I were to overstep and accidentally give him something that he did not… desire…” But the thought was much too terrifying for Mycroft, and he grew quiet.

And what a baseless thought! A burst of compassion swam through John, to see a devoted older brother so distressed. “No, no! That’s not going to happen! You could never do anything Sherlock wouldn’t like. I’m sure of it.” He held one of Mycroft’s hands reassuringly.

“Perhaps.” Mycroft was grateful for the touch, though he continued to speak sadly. “Still.” His face paled, and his voice dropped to a whisper laden with guilt. “I would never forgive myself, if it came to that.”

John was humbled, to be in the presence of such devotion. 

Almost too quickly to be seen, a smouldering twinkle of want flickered in Mycroft’s eye, behind the reluctance. “If only I could know what it was that he wanted, then…” Yet whatever Mycroft was imagining was too much for him. He cleared his throat and looked away from John, ashamed of himself. “But we shall see,” he murmured.

Not wishing to discomfort Mycroft further, John resettled into his position, and let Mycroft hold him some more. But John knew now. 

He had been sorely mistaken.

John was convinced, now more than ever, that Mycroft did want Sherlock as Sherlock wanted him. 

More than that, Mycroft wanted to share more with Sherlock than Mycroft knew how to handle.

\--

Greg had suspected that he would find Sherlock awake in their bedroom. What he would not have suspected in a thousand years was to find Sherlock still on the bed, dressed, sitting by the bedside table, staring motionlessly and fixedly at the table’s single occupant. It was the well-used jar of lubricant. Well-used by Greg and Mycroft, anyway.

Making sure to keep his distance for the moment, Greg asked, “Sherlock?”

“Greg?” Instantly, the jar lost all its appeal. Sherlock rose from the bed, head bowed. “I did not mean to inconvenience you last night. There was no cause to worry. I was working in the greenhouse.”

“How about we sit together, for a minute?” 

Sherlock swallowed. “All right.”

Greg helped Sherlock return to sitting on the bed, and took his place by him. “I’m going to suppose that part of the reason you stayed in the greenhouse is because of your feelings about your brother.”

Sherlock frowned indignantly. “You must have talked about this with John this morning.”

“And Mycroft, too. Believe it or not, we all want to make sure that you’re doing all right.”

A shadow passed over Sherlock. He groaned loudly and covered his face. “Why are you all so worried and accepting? Don’t you all know that I’m just being jealous and childish? Instead, you’re all pretending like what I want isn’t completely insane. Mycroft. All because he was with John a few times.”

“I seem to recall you being fairly accepting of the rest of us.” Greg held Sherlock around the shoulders, doing his best to beckon him to come out again from behind his hands. “You accepted me and John being close like that, for example. You accepted me and Mycroft, too, on our first night.” Effecting a playful air, Greg leaned closer and whispered, “And the things we’ve done almost every night after, come to think of it.”

A shiver rippled through Sherlock’s body. “That’s different,” he mumbled. “Mycroft wasn’t stuck with you by circumstances of birth. He’s my older brother. More than that. He’s… like a parent, or close enough to that. He’s always given me whatever I asked for.”

“That’s nice of him. And that’s a good thing, right?”

“No. Not now! What is it to him that I want to be close to him?” Sherlock shook his head. “It’s yet another demand from his needy little brother. He’s never wanted this from me. I can’t make him want it. Damn! Of course I shouldn’t want to make him want it! But he’ll do it for me anyway, like he did before, and it’ll just be the most awkward of his big-brother chores.”

“Are you sure about all that?” Keeping his patience wrapped surely and steadily about them both, Greg rubbed Sherlock’s back. “Maybe I should let you in on a little secret. He enjoys doing things for you that you like, no matter what they are, simply because you like them. Really, he enjoys it a lot. Sometimes, I think he likes doing particular things simply because you like them so much.” Greg smirked. “For example…” He took the jar, and tapped it against Sherlock’s hands. 

Long fingers parted, so that Sherlock could glare at the thing for betraying him. 

“Not once have we ever used this stuff when you weren’t around.”

“Naturally. You don’t want me to feel left out.”

“Not once,” Greg repeated, laying it on thick. 

Taking note of Greg’s seriousness, Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

The jar was replaced on the table. “Though, you’re well aware that there have been a couple of instances when you were gone for a bit of a stretch of time, and I would give your lonely brother a little something to help pass the time.” Greg smiled nostalgically. “There was that time I had him against a wall, with a knee against him, while I told him to remember how satisfied you looked, the last time I had you—”

“Greg,” Sherlock warned, weakly.

“Oh, sorry! I don’t mean to give you a hard time. My point is, even if Mycroft never would have thought of a change between you two like this, just the fact that you’re sharing something with him that means so much to you, well,” Greg shrugged. “It would never be a chore to him. It would mean a lot to him, actually, whether it’s exciting or not, in the hanky-panky sense. He just likes it when he can make you happy. He likes that more than anything. Hey, you can think of it that way! You’re making Mycroft happy by giving him the chance to do things you like for you.” Greg removed himself from Sherlock. “Does that help?”

After a long pause, and with a pronounced exhale, Sherlock said, “Yes. Maybe. If I don’t think about it too hard.” He looked at Greg, with an abruptness that was harsh, with a gaze that demanded evidence. “Is it the same, then, as it would be for you and John?”

“What?”

“You like to make John happy in the same way? In other words, if John came to you, and asked if you would enjoy intimacy with him…” Sherlock swallowed. “If he longed for you to use him however you wished, would this be an unequivocally pleasing request?”

That slowed Greg down. The fresh, warm feelings that the hypothetical scenario gave him were not so simple. It would be hypocritical of him to answer in the negative, but he had never thought about that before.

“Or not?” Sherlock asked apprehensively. He needed to know the answer.

“Well.” Greg did Sherlock the justice of thinking about it honestly. “I can’t speak for Mycroft, but, if John asked for something like that, well, I would be fairly surprised. I’ve always liked looking after John. I don’t want to make him do anything.” Greg exhaled uncertainly. “I don’t want John to think he owes me anything. More importantly, I’d never take advantage of him. Sure, I’d enjoy doing anything that John wants, but if he says he wants me to take advantage of him, then…?”

Sherlock leaned forward. “Then, what?”

“Then…” It was an extreme and embarrassingly hard question to consider. John was precious to Greg. Plus, John trusted him so much. Greg couldn’t possibly let himself get carried away with him. Still, if that was what John wanted most of all, and maybe also if Mycroft was nearby and ready to intervene if anything went wrong, then Greg couldn’t deny to himself that, yes. There was so much that he wanted do for John, that he couldn’t in good conscience do. He could share all his feelings with John. He would make sure that John felt good, and loved, and happy. Greg wanted that so much, and yet, he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it.

Sherlock shrank. “You… wouldn’t like that…”

“Actually, I’d like it too much,” Greg admitted. “It’s unexpected, and I’m almost overwhelmed just thinking about it. But I would like to do anything that he would like, there’s no doubt about that. I don’t want there to be anything that we can’t do together. Spending time with John, trying new things with him, seeing him smile…” Greg smiled, too. “I suppose that’d be good. But that would never happen, anyway.” He let that train of thought roll off the rails and swiftly returned to Sherlock’s problem. “The point here is that Mycroft will like doing anything with you, as long as it’s with you. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, perhaps.” Little by little, Sherlock sounded surer of himself. “I think I see it.”

Whatever spontaneous speech had just come out of Greg must have not been too bad, then. “Great! That’s the spirit.” This was good. However, the final uncertainty would not be resolved until Sherlock talked about it with Mycroft. Greg stood up. “Do you think you’re up to going over it with your brother?”

There was an expression on Sherlock’s thin features of fear and uncertainty. Then, there was a look of affection and idolisation. Finally, Sherlock put on his recklessness, for all the world to see. “Of course! Of course I am. Yes, Greg, I will go.” He shot to his feet. “For big brother,” he murmured to himself, before bowing his head. “Thank you, Greg. You have helped me. I am grateful.” 

“No problem. Anytime.” Greg softened, and spoke with as much seriousness as he could muster. “I love you.”

That was the last spur that Sherlock needed. He nodded bashfully. His military march out of the room contrasted sharply with the pouting of mere moments ago.

Admittedly astonished at this show of bravado, Greg followed, though not before glancing at the jar one final time. He put the jar away in the room, but not in his mind.

\--

John and Mycroft, too, soon were astonished.

“The following are my terms,” Sherlock started. He was standing tall, still in his gown, in front of his brother and his beloved. 

John noticed Greg re-enter the room from behind, and how Greg crossed his arms and watched.

“Whereas it pleases you to be close to John,” Sherlock continued bravely, in a manner befitting a cautious lawyer. “Whereas I want to be that close to you also, whereas I know that you will give me whatever I ask for without a second thought because that is what you have always done.” He swallowed. “Whereas my particular feelings may not necessarily be returned—”

That outrageous last qualifier made John giggle at the sheer degree of the miscommunication between the brothers. John regretted the action immediately, though, because Sherlock had ceased his preamble. “Um, sorry.”

“You are sitting with Mycroft,” Sherlock said. He glanced at the coffee, and John knew that Sherlock was using it to gauge how long John and Mycroft had been here. “It is… a nice sight.” Assuming a stiff posture, Sherlock held his hands behind his back. “However, what if the servants see you like that?”

“We both know that the servants already know all that there is to know,” Mycroft murmured. “What were you going to say, Sherlock?”

That the servants knew about anything was news, and unwelcome news, to John. He glanced at Greg, who was also made unsure by the claim. Sherlock elected to ignore what Mycroft had said.

“They’re all women, aren’t they?” He continued. “They’ll be greatly offended by the display.”

“Could it be, rather,” Mycroft asked gently, “that you are experiencing some jealousy again, and that you wish to be held in the same manner as John?”

Sherlock’s soul shook in his body at the offer. There was no other way for John to describe it. Sherlock had flinched rigidly, as if from cold. “That would be unnecessary. You and John are clearly quite content where you are. Perhaps at a later time, I would be glad, if you are not against it, that is. If it abides by the terms, that’s is. Yes, the terms. I still haven’t said them.”

John wasn’t one to let that offer slide so easily, though. “Wait! You can have my spot. I was just about to be moving. It’s, um…” He glanced at Greg, and got an idea by doing so. “It’s time I sit with Greg! I want to be in Greg’s lap now.”

It worked. There was no rebuttal. Only, Sherlock’s eyes flashed.

Greg hadn’t followed John’s idea yet. His response was more of the that-was-too-good-to-be-true variety. “Me? Are you sure?”

John nodded vigorously. He hoped it wasn’t an imposition or a strange gesture as far as Greg was concerned. It shouldn’t be. Greg had liked being close to him before, at least as much as John had. That should still be true.

But John needn’t have worried. By the time John squirmed out of Mycroft’s embrace, Greg was already striding past Sherlock and picking John up with great enthusiasm. Carrying John bridal style, Greg chivalrously swung John away, to sit with him on a different sofa. 

John flushed with emotion. While Mycroft had been delicate, fully dressed, and lightly fragrant with the faint smell of soap, His Lordship was none of those things. Greg’s large lap and large arms came around him like warm, padded irons.

Greg must have said something that might have been a thank you, but in the rush of feeling that came with being pressed against such a thoughtful and familiar man, John missed it.

Sherlock looked between Greg and John. Then, he saw Mycroft.

Mycroft asked patiently, “What were the terms?” 

Sherlock morosely dug his chin into his sternum. “Just this: we won’t ever do anything that you don’t want to do. No humouring me for my sake. Not when it comes to this… to you and me.” He huffed. “That’s it. It’s open to amendment.”

“It is somewhat one-sided, though I have no objections.” Mycroft cordially held out a hand to Sherlock. In the older brother’s limb, John could see a tight cord of restraint being pulled. “I agree to your terms. I will not engage in anything against my inclinations.”

“Do you… promise?”

“I promise.”

It was a relatively slow thing for Sherlock to take the offered hand. It was even more so, when it came to Sherlock taking the next step forward. The younger brother stayed back. “Uh…”

The cord of restraint in the older was stretched to its tightest.

Sherlock swallowed. “This does make you happy, right?”

Mycroft’s answer was tight. “Nothing would please me more.”

The younger couldn’t contain himself past that. In a spur of black and auburn mixing together, Sherlock fell into hugging Mycroft, and Mycroft pulled Sherlock close to him. Their knees weaved together. 

Mycroft whispered, “It’s all right.”

“I really liked it, Mycroft,” Sherlock spoke urgently. “More than I ever imagined I would. It was terrifying. One time, I told myself! One time, one unforgivable, outrageous night, and after that I would be bored of you. It would be a novelty. A farce. Then, we would go back to the way things were.”

“Brother dear, hush.”

“But we can’t now! I want everything. I want to be with you still. I want you, and Greg, and John, in every way, in every combination, endlessly.” Sherlock rested his head next to Mycroft’s. “I always wanted more than was fair.”

“Brother, dear. Anything you want, I will gladly give you.”

“I was going to give you away to the man you wanted, you know. To Greg. When we all got married. You were going to be happy with him, I was sure. And I was going to walk away and leave you with him. It would have been my one selfless act, my attempt to make up for all that you’ve ever given up for me, though I would have hated it. I could’ve gone on to live alone, to only see you and Greg every now and then, as long as I knew that you two were happily married. But you kept me there, with you. I couldn’t believe you let me stay. And again, when I fell in love with John, I would have walked away with him, but again—”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft’s slow, restrained tone contrasted almost painfully with the hurried panic of his brother’s. “What is it that you want?”

“No, I hate this! I ask for so much from you, yet all you want from me is to stay and be content. And I can’t even do that right. I always want more from you, and I hate it.”

“Ah, but it’s not as it seems. I have an equally insatiable want to care for you,” Mycroft whispered. “In the name of God, Sherlock, I beg you, tell me what you desire from me, or I will never be at peace.”

“Fine, brother mine, though it cannot be in the name of God,” Sherlock muttered back. “I want to…” He stalled. “It’s only that… Damn it!” He groaned bitterly at himself for his failure to speak.

“What is it? Sherlock?”

This scene was vaguely familiar to John. “The pirate,” John prompted quickly, as soon as the memory came to him. His voice, which began low, became louder with urgency. “Remember the pirate.”

Puzzled, Greg hummed in wonder at John, though not for long.

“Ah. Yes! The pirate!” Sherlock brightened in a flash. Abruptly, he withdrew from Mycroft, and instead stood sharply in front of him again.

A cold devastation came over Mycroft at the distance, but only for an instant, as he saw that his brother began to speak with the aid of his hands.

“There are a merchant and a pirate, together on a ship at sea,” Sherlock said, his face heated. “By providence, and then by mutual agreement, the pirate has been an eternal dependent of the merchant since the dawn of time. The merchant does whatever the pirate wants him to do, more or less. However, the pirate watches the merchant be intimate with the beautiful nobleman and sailor who are with them, and then, the pirate’s imagination torments him with ideas about himself and the beautiful merchant. It comes down to this. The pirate secretly wants the merchant to…” Sherlock’s hands rolled into balls, and he closed his eyes harshly. “… to use the pirate.”

Mycroft wasn’t a fool. For a moment, though, he feigned to be one. “I’m afraid that I don’t follow.”

Sherlock sniffed indignantly. “For the merchant’s own enjoyment. Obviously.”

John, for one, could understand why Mycroft was rather suddenly finding himself in a difficult situation. John could also see why Sherlock was rocking from one foot to the other, peeking at Mycroft and either crossing or uncrossing his arms. This was not the sort of request that John had expected. 

“I see,” the older brother said, slowly. “You wish to return the physical favour which I paid you. That is exceptionally fair-minded of you, but it is not necessary. Be assured, I am quite satisfied as things stand, as long as I can give you what you want.”

“No, I mean it! I do want it! Take me seriously!” Sherlock retorted with frustrated energy. He was filling the room with it. 

“I am, but surely, you are meaning to repay me, to do me a favour, in some fashion—”

“No! I want you to use me!” Sherlock half-pleaded, half-shouted. Tears were at the corners of his eyes. “I want you… to use me.”

“That is…” It was a strong, wild emotion that crippled Mycroft’s heart now. 

“Lose control of yourself, like you did then, on that day we rode the horses.” Sherlock’s fingers interlocked and moved erratically. His tearful eyes observed his own nervousness with excitement and terror. “No… you didn’t lose control then, but it was close. When I was crying and making a mess of myself. You didn’t hold back. It felt good. We’d never shared so much between us. It wasn’t like anything we’d done before.” His hands fell to his sides. “That’s what I want more of. You, not holding back. Doing whatever you want with me.”

Mycroft was stiff as ice. John sympathized; Sherlock had made a difficult demand, and had left his sibling no room to avoid it. Mycroft glanced sidelong at John and Greg, a trifle awkwardly. “That really can’t be true. That can’t be what he needs from me. That is impossible, is it not?”

“Maybe it’s true,” Greg answered gently, from just behind John’s ear. 

The small sentiment had a profound effect on Mycroft. “Greg, is it not… impossible? Is it… true?” He thought hard, and said nothing else. 

Hurt, Sherlock didn’t know how to hide how affected he was by what seemed to be Mycroft’s rejection. So, he did not hide it. “Humph! Fine. Well, I’ve told you what I wanted! And you already promised that we wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want to do. So, you can’t guilt yourself into doing what I just said!” Sherlock turned away. “But it’s fine. There are plenty of other unspeakable things I’d want from you, anyway.” He glanced at Greg, though he spoke to his brother. “I know you like doing things for me, though, Mycroft. So, I can think of a better thing to ask for that you can do for me—”

“No,” Mycroft stated with sudden force. “Never mind what I said. Turn back to me now.”

Sherlock was silenced, effectively, and did as he was directed, while remaining standing. His complete responsiveness to his brother caught John’s attention. 

“Come back to me, if you please,” Mycroft asked, becoming kind again.

A brisk nod was all the confirmation Sherlock dared to give. Instead of climbing onto Mycroft’s lap like before, Sherlock sat next to Mycroft, hands folded. Obedience, so often a stranger to Sherlock, was now his quick acquaintance. He fidgeted with it. 

Mycroft took hold of Sherlock’s shoulders, and gently pulled his little brother close. “Thank you.” His low words cut the tense air around the other. “Please, forgive my foolishness.”

John was awed by the near-worship that glowed from Sherlock.

“Sherlock, do not worry.” There was a brushing kiss on a fair cheek. “I will abide by my promise, and you will have what you asked for. You will soon see, I am agreeable to your wishes, though I’ll admit that they startled me.”

Nervous delight sparked in Sherlock. “You’re… agreeable?”

“Yes, I find that I am very agreeable to them, after all.”

“How? How can that be?” Though he was charged with the idea of it, Sherlock shook his disbelieving head furiously. “No, how can you say that? You just said that what I wanted was impossible. You don’t… like me, the way I like you. Don’t pretend to like me, not for my sake!” With every word, he made himself more flustered. “Certainly, I’m not your type, anyway. That is, I know you’d prefer the… handsome, noble sort… or the pretty sailor type, at least!”

“My dear Sherlock, what do you mean by that?” Mycroft said. “You cannot think you are repulsive. Why, you’re as beautiful as the day you were born.”

Sherlock blushed and groaned hard at once. “Brother! Really!”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh? Pardon me. Was that not appropriate? Forget I said anything.” Finally, he pulled Sherlock back to his lap. 

Sherlock, powerless as he was, grumbled and surrendered himself to the embrace, pouting ineffectively as he did so. He was too embarrassed and overjoyed to respond.

That was all right with his brother. “Don’t worry, anymore,” Mycroft whispered to him gently. He kept Sherlock close to him as he spoke. “I will take care of everything, Sherlock. I will show you what is in my heart, if that is what you wish for. I will not hold back.” 

“Tonight?”

Mycroft considered that. Then, he held Sherlock at arm’s length, and tapped Sherlock’s nose playfully. “Yes. Certainly.”

Sparkles of amazed joy popped around Sherlock’s widening features. He was almost childishly eager. The sweet, simple sight held John spellbound.

“But don’t worry about that for now. Come, your eyes are red. You need some air. Why don’t we go out on the town for today, just you and me?”

“Really? That’s… but what about Greg and John?”

“We’ll be fine!” John and Greg said at once.

Mycroft and Sherlock observed the two of them with a sudden spark of acuity, unaware until this moment, perhaps, that they had earned for themselves two very invested fans.

“Go have a nice time,” Greg said with gusto. 

“We’ll see you later today, anyway,” John reassured them with equal eagerness. 

To make the point stronger, Greg picked John up from off himself and stood up. “Besides, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk about with John for a while. If you two will be busy today, then it looks like I get to steal him now from Sherlock for the day.” Two giant, rather possessive hands fell on John’s shoulders. “It’s fine. We’ll be here!”

John wondered what Greg meant by all that, but only briefly, because he saw that Sherlock was leaving Mycroft’s side and coming up to John.

“John, I won’t be gone long!” Sherlock kissed John tenderly. He was unusually hot to the touch. “I…” A juvenile shyness compelled Sherlock to murmur, “I love you.”

John beamed radiantly, even while heady thoughts came unbidden to him. He wanted to hold Sherlock and make him feel warm inside, while Sherlock’s older brother made use of him as Sherlock had so deeply wanted. John would be only too awfully happy to hold Sherlock for Mycroft. Maybe for Greg, too? Sherlock was as much Greg’s baby as he was Mycroft’s… 

“Greg.” Sherlock held his hands behind himself. “You’ll… keep John company, won’t you?”

John blushed at himself. Here was his kind Sherlock, expressing such simple concern over him, while he was having such reckless ideas. He wondered what Sherlock would be doing with Mycroft all day, anyway. 

“I won’t leave John’s side for a second,” Greg promised.

John, flattered and embarrassed as he was, didn’t realise at the time how literally Greg had spoken.

\--

Once they were alone, Greg took John for a stroll in the courtyard out back. It was a wide-open square, where the ground was soft and unpaved. The air was good, and it made Greg smile with arms akimbo. “Nice weather we’re having today.”

“Certainly.”

“It’s just as well. Mycroft never goes out when the weather’s bothersome.”

“Really? Sherlock likes the adventure that comes with getting through harsh weather,” John said.

“Ha, that’s cute. I’m sure they’ll both have a good time.” 

“So, um, what did you want to talk about?”

“Eh?” Greg’s happy demeanour flickered with doubt for a moment. “I can get to that in a minute. But first!” Without further delay, Greg removed his sleeping gown, leaving only one undergarment on his own body to boast of.

Predictably, that unsettled John, though not as much as it might have in the past. “Greg?”

“The weather’s too good for me to not take off my shirt.” Greg looked John up and down, making sure to do so in as unthreatening a manner as possible. “How about you, John? I can’t wrestle by myself.”

“Wrestle?”

“Yeah!” Greg clapped his hands. “There’s plenty of dirt here, and the weather is perfect. Can we, please? We haven’t wrestled in forever. You know what I’m talking about. Just getting reckless and dirty together, for the fun of it.”

“Um, yeah.” John looked at the ground, though he was smiling slightly. “We did that as kids.”

“Ah.” Greg put his hands on his hips. “It’s not just a kid thing, though, or is it?”

“No.” John kicked the ground, and smirked shyly. “I suppose not.” 

“Hey, John.” 

Caught, John looked up at him.

Proud to have John’s attention on him, Greg spun his own garment like a lasso before tossing it to the side. “Ah, nothing much. I was just thinking. We spent a lot of time together as kids, but we had no classes together in school or anything. That’s kind of odd, isn’t it?”

“That was because we were not the same age.”

“But that’s exactly my point!” Greg exclaimed. “How did we manage to stick together so much of the time, if we had no classes together? I wish I could remember.” He grinned charmingly. “But I sure did learn a lot from you. Before I ever knew anything about being a noble or having to be responsible for things, I knew what it meant to love somebody.”

John stared at him, dazed. Apparently, that was too phenomenally kind of a thing to hear Greg say, and it left John speechless. 

Greg hadn’t expected that. “Ah. Didn’t mean to put it so seriously.” Apologising with his tight smile, Greg held the back of his neck. “Too much?”

John shook his head. “No, that’s… so kind of you.” At last, he took to taking off his shirt. “Here…” He folded it and placed it on the ground. Then, he assumed the familiar position. His knees, abdomen, and elbows bent themselves. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Delighted, Greg eagerly matched his pose like a mirror. He was filled with strength, ready to meet the challenge. 

“I was really lucky, to have you,” John said.

The gathered strength, so primed and ready, swiftly fell out from under Greg.

“Ah, I mean, it was like I had my own big kid.” John’s tone lightened up almost immediately, unable to bear its own weight. “Always there to get me in trouble, until I had Sherlock to do that for me.”

“Ha. Always.” With a heartfelt smile, Greg steadied himself again. “Ready?”

Prepared for battle, John hummed an affirmative.

Greg leapt forward.

Dust flew up into the air as feet skidded across the ground. John halted Greg brusquely, grasping him palm to palm. 

“Ah!” Greg grunted with a merry giggle. “When did you get so strong?”

John reddened silently at the praise.

Greg didn’t think he’d said anything particularly good, though. He tried adding some more. “When did you get so handsome, too?” 

“Uh, thank you.” John’s heels dug deeply into the ground. With an earnest groan of effort, John heaved at Greg’s shoulders, and had the same done to him in turn. 

An angled lunge from Greg was enough to knock them both on their sides. They rolled along the dirt, pulling and pushing one another, until Greg got the upper hand and pinned John down by the arms and chest.

It felt too easy a victory, though. Somehow, John had given up the game. He had held back. As it was, John was looking up at him with a starstruck expression that Greg couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it made Greg feel lighter than air. 

They breathed and watched one another for a long moment.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Greg whispered.

“Maybe… a little,” John conceded reluctantly. 

“Right.” Greg removed himself. He took up arms again. 

John rose as well, seemingly ready for battle. The deepness of his breathing and the colour in his face suggested that the energy of the wrestle was beating through him. 

Greg liked the sight of it. The rules of their years-old game were ingrained in John’s marrow, if he was anything like Greg in that respect. They both knew that it was Greg’s turn now. Still, he took his time preparing for the strike, only to admire John for as long as possible, before proceeding with a rush forward.

There was even less of a contest in the second round. John wasn’t afraid to block Greg’s ramming motion, but all too soon, Greg was on top of John again, pinning him down to the ground. Greg smirked. “Now, how did I end up here again?”

The question genuinely puzzled John. “Because you beat me.”

“Is that all it is? Silly me. I was beginning to think that you liked having me up here.”

John’s cheeks livened. “Would you… do you…” He swallowed. “Um, do you think Sherlock and Mycroft are okay?”

Greg raised a brow. “Those two? Yeah, they’ll be fine.”

John glanced to the side. “All this happens, and they still get along so well.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I see why they’re having a time of it, though. Mycroft doesn’t want to take advantage of Sherlock.” His own conversation with Sherlock beforehand, in addition to Mycroft’s own words, had made that abundantly clear. “And it must be hard on Sherlock, too, to ask for something this off the cuff.”

Yet John was evidently in disagreement with him over something, or perhaps was confused, or perhaps no longer paying attention. Greg wasn’t the centre of John’s attention anymore. At the moment, a nearby tree was more interesting than he was.

That wasn’t too good. Greg wondered if it had to do with his own half-nakedness again. He would gladly back off and put his shirt back on, if it meant John would look at him, even though Greg enjoyed how they were currently.

“John?” Greg asked him gently. “What’s up?”

John looked at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, which captivated Greg’s soul and burned him with the feeling of responsibility. “Um, well. I, um, I hope it’s all right… if I’ve been thinking of you… as my big brother, ever since… you said you were, on that night.”

Greg remembered it all too clearly. “Of course,” he said. “I think of you as family. Is something bothering you about that? I meant it, honest, when I said you’re like a brother to me. In fact, never mind that. I don’t much care for the ‘like’ part of that. You  _are_ a brother to me.”

“Oh, but...” John’s response was a tortured one, and his face creased with pain. “We aren’t brothers… not really.”

The world stopped. Even though Greg had known that was true, it didn’t stop his heart from breaking.

Greg could see why John didn’t really consider him a brother. Most obviously, Greg and John weren’t related. Greg hadn’t been there to see John be born. They hadn’t shared as much of their lives as Mycroft and Sherlock had. Greg hadn’t tried hard enough to be involved in John’s life. For fear of over-involvement, he had missed so much of it.

Whatever sadness had come upon Greg, it shocked John. “Greg? Are you okay? I’m sorry…?”

“We’re… not brothers, huh?” Greg moved off of John, and sat on his feet. John was right. They weren’t brothers. Brothers were related, and had their lives tied together in at least some way. Brothers didn’t abandon one another. Mycroft had always been there for Sherlock, had seen him through thick and thin. Where had Greg been all that time that John was alone? Getting married.

John sat upright. “… Greg?”

Something heavy hit Greg and weighed him down to the furthest depths of the earth. “One minute, please,” Greg whispered, and turned away, ashamed of himself. “Give me one minute…”

A soft hand tried to call him back, as it tugged lightly at his shoulder. “Greg? Greg? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Er, um, I know we aren’t brothers in the normal way, but… I didn’t mean we aren’t brothers at all, because, maybe we are brothers… in the way that counts?”

Greg looked at poor John, and saw someone familiar and beautiful. John showed a mix of fright, concern, and love that made Greg want nothing more than to protect him forever. But right now, Greg was failing to do anything about the worry in John’s eyes. And John wasn’t realising to what extent Greg had failed him, in more ways than one.

“I was just being silly,” John said desperately. “You’re my older brother, without a doubt. Maybe ‘brother’ isn’t the most correct word for what you mean to me, but I look up to you, and… I do like the word.” The very small, unsure smile that stole onto John’s face was heartbreakingly beautiful. Quite out of nowhere, Greg was reminded of all the occasions when John blushed and moaned while he was warmly cared for by Sherlock or Mycroft on Greg’s own bed. 

Greg couldn’t exactly say so, but he wanted to see more of that. He longed to give John everything. There was so much that Greg could do for John, if only he had the chance.

"I’m sorry,” John begged. Greg could tell that John was still struggling to determine what had gone wrong. “I didn’t mean to say that I felt left out. I do feel like part of your family. I am so happy to be here, with you—” 

Without another moment’s rest, Greg tackled John again. He met with no resistance, since he took John completely off guard. Greg had John in one large hug and pulled him to his stomach so that he was holding John close. “John, please, just this little thing, please, for me." Something in Greg’s throat half-choked his voice. "I know we're not close like Mycroft and Sherlock are. We haven’t been around each other as much as they have. I'm sorry about that. But I think we will be closer, someday, and I love you so much, so, please..." He couldn’t manage much, and he realised belatedly that it was because he was crying. "If I could hold you for a little bit."

Shocked, his little brother murmured, “Greg?”

Greg couldn’t control how he was feeling. He didn’t want to let go of John, not when he was finally so close. He loved John's smell, John's skin, and the feeling of John's warmth. Mixed in it, there was an awful temptation to give John a deeper pleasure. Not for Greg’s own lust directly, but to see and hear how much John loved the attention. 

This all traced back to what Sherlock had asked him. That impossible question. If John wanted Greg to be unrestrained around him, would Greg oblige? No, Greg would not. He couldn’t possibly. He hadn’t realised it until now, but he hadn’t been honest with either Sherlock or himself. To be reckless with John like that would go against everything that Greg believed in. 

Greg hated himself for wishing he could do more. “Is this all right, John?”

“Um, yeah…?”

“Thank you. God, thank you,” Greg whispered. “I would never forgive myself if I messed up with you, John.”

John didn’t say anything. Instead, his arms reciprocated, and came around Greg. Much to Greg’s undying gratitude, John let Greg hold him for as long as he wanted.

It was only after some moments had passed that Greg retreated to hold John by the face, with each palm on either of his cheeks, and smiled at him. “I know I didn’t see you be born,” Greg admitted, and felt silly for saying anything at all, “but you’ve always been beautiful to me.”

Humble John’s eyes shined back at him with both admiration and concern. 

That pained Greg to see. It wouldn’t do for him to ruin the nice time he was having with John in this way. He stretched the natural smile that had come to him. “Anyway,” he said with a cheeriness that was not completely genuine, “I’m not done with you yet.” He hadn’t had the chance to pin John to the ground with his own body enough times. “Are you ready for another go? And don’t go easy on me!”

There was a brief hesitation. Then, much to Greg’s unbearably ambivalent joy, John agreed to it.

\--

John had never heard a more lovely noise than the sound of a door opening and closing that evening, when Sherlock and Mycroft returned from their journey. He, together with Greg, was quick to meet them. 

Sherlock and his elder counterpart had come home, dripping wet and with their coats in their arms. Almost immediately, Mycroft tried to usher Sherlock with him back into the bedroom, claiming that they both ought to dress properly or they would fall ill from the cold. Sherlock made a difficulty of it at every step.

Only at the end of dinner did Sherlock explain what had happened to them while they were gone. Mycroft had joined him at the docks, for a change. Sherlock had walked alongside the edge, while Mycroft guarded him from the side. Sherlock had grown distracted, and fell into the water. When Mycroft reached down to bring him up, Sherlock thought it better to pull Mycroft in with him.

Out of pure curiosity, John asked Sherlock what exactly had distracted him.

“It was Mycroft,” Sherlock muttered, and upon exiting the dining room, collapsed with grandeur upon a couch. “He made me fall!”

John had a tough time believing that. “Really?” 

Mycroft entered behind them. “Indeed? I recall that I tried to catch you as you fell.”

Sherlock jerked upright, and pointed a finger squarely at his brother. “It was your fault. You flirted with me! In public! It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t focus. I fell because of it!”

Amused, Mycroft tilted his head pleasantly. “Dear me, did I flirt with you?”

Greg came in behind Mycroft. He glanced at John, and gave him a trusting yet longing smile. It made John feel incredibly important to the welfare of the world. Greg had been all over him today. As nice as the close attention was, John wasn’t sure what it all meant. He was working with the supposition that he hadn’t been spending enough time with Greg lately. 

“You said that you liked the ocean air,” Sherlock argued passionately, “because it tasted like me!” 

“I said… that I wasn’t averse to it.” But Mycroft’s bashful smile gave him away.

Sherlock frowned. “It was flirting.” He rolled off the couch, and stood cross-armed before Mycroft. “And…” He humphed. “I didn’t expect it, and, it wasn’t honest, so, it wasn’t fair.”

“I am reluctant to contradict you, but there was no dishonesty,” Mycroft said. “Didn’t I tell you before, that I was agreeable to your desires, Sherlock?”

“Still, you shouldn’t flirt with me!” Sherlock groaned. “Why flirt with someone who you only find to be… agreeable, as if they were more than that? Or is the flirting for my benefit, too? It’s confusing! I can’t tell what you actually want!”

Hard lines set on Mycroft’s soft face.

“I know, I know,” Sherlock huffed and thrust his hands about in the air. His voice deflated. “Anything involving me is agreeable to you. But I can do better than be agreeable. I’m sure of it. I can be useful for you, somehow.”

“Sherlock, we’ve been over this.”

“But I can do more than demand things!” Sherlock insisted. “I can do better than that. I must. But I can’t understand it, I… John!” He spun on his heels before Mycroft or Greg could stop him, and pointed to the man whose name he spoke with such care. “You know, don’t you?”

John blinked at the assertion. He wondered why Sherlock would suppose such a thing.

Sherlock asked, “What does Mycroft want?”

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock...”

Sherlock stepped away, back toward John. He put his hands on John’s shoulders. “Imagine you’re my older brother. You want something, you want it terribly. You want it so badly that you can’t tell anyone that you want it, but it’s something I can do for you. What is it?”

“Um…” Excited, John scanned Sherlock’s face for some clue of what Sherlock might be feeling. “Spending time with you?”

“That’s good, that’s close,” Sherlock said hastily, “but not exactly. It has to be something that seems bad. Something that seems worse than even what I want.”

John couldn’t freely say that what Mycroft wanted was Sherlock. Not in good conscience.

“John, please. What is it that you want?”

“Greg,” John blurted. 

Sherlock stopped. 

The silence that fell in the room was heavy on John’s soul, especially Greg’s silence. “Um, I mean to say, for Mycroft, because he likes Greg… and vice versa…” He blushed at his own words, simple though they were.

“I see.” His beloved began to nod. “Yes. That’s it. John, you are a genius!”

“I am?”

Sherlock leaned down and gave John a slow, thankful kiss. All the sweet warmth that Sherlock had to give was given freely. John’s heartbeat instantly ran away from him. That Sherlock would give him this innocent token of affection, without hesitation, for no reason other than to show John his appreciation, at a moment when John thought himself not at all the subject of Sherlock’s powerful concentration, weakened John in a splendidly pleasant way.

And John couldn’t help but notice, out of the corner of his eye, and to his surprise, that Greg and Mycroft were made useless by the sight of them kissing.

All too soon, his kind Sherlock was away from him and again in motion. He moved like a snake to Mycroft and pulled at him, until he had succeeded in securing his older brother on the sofa next to John.

Uncertain as he was of what Sherlock had in mind, Mycroft went along with this, and treaded with light steps. “Ah, but what about our agreement?” he asked carefully. “It is nighttime, and I intend to keep my promise—”

“Later, later, after,” Sherlock said with a wave. “Stay there a moment, and don’t move.” He next went to Greg, and made to bring him also by the arm.

Greg resisted, however. “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve finally figured out how I can be of real use.” Sherlock clapped his hands together. “To Mycroft. To John.” His voice dropped to dangerous depths. “To you.”

Greg tilted his head. “Me?”

“Yes, you. The one Mycroft actually wants.”

At this repeated self-effacement that pained John to withstand, Mycroft’s contained exasperation grew close to becoming too much for him to keep hold of. “Sherlock, please, that is quite enough.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, with a quick hand outstretched to stop Mycroft from rising. “I shouldn’t have put it like that. That wasn’t really my point, anyway.” He moved closer to Greg. “But you, Greg. You already know my point, don’t you?”

Greg caught Sherlock’s hands, which had risen to touch Greg around the neck. The grasp was an infinitely soft one, as though Sherlock were perfectly fragile.

“The feeling,” Sherlock pressed, his head tilting down more than usual toward the slightly shorter Greg, “of wanting something impossible, something too good to be true. Of wanting,” and here Sherlock lowered their joined hands, “what will never happen.”

A flicker of light in Greg’s worried expression caught John’s attention.

The words that Sherlock spoke next were lost to John, uttered in such closeness to Greg and with such quietness that neither John nor Mycroft could discern them. Greg’s reaction, however, was so strong as to give the two bystanders something of a start.

Greg was slow to believe what he’d heard from Sherlock. “What?”

“You would like that, too, right?” Sherlock said. “And they’ll like watching us, won’t they?”

Greg avoided eye contact. “I… I don’t know if I can do that…”

“You can do it with me. It can’t be pretend, if we both mean it, can it? Unless…” An awful doubt shadowed Sherlock’s features. “You don’t want to?”

“I… That’s not it, I just…” 

Relieved, Sherlock gently removed his hands from Greg’s grasp. “It’s fine. I trust you. Completely.”

It was a staggering fact that Greg, normally so straightforward, continued to avert his gaze from the three of them, with a shame that didn’t suit him. “I don’t know. I… well… if you want it, too…”

Yet Sherlock beamed. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you so much for this.” Without waiting anymore, he sank to his knees, in front of Greg. Experimentally, Sherlock rubbed Greg’s leg through the cloth surrounding it.

The innocent gesture was disastrous to Greg’s resolve. “You… don’t have to…” 

“So many times, you’ve made me feel… good.” A colourful blush came to Sherlock’s cheeks. “You’ve given me good feelings… but it’s never been the reverse… has it?” Still feeling his way uncertainly, Sherlock unbuttoned Greg’s trousers.

The air was knocked out of Greg by the mere sight of what Sherlock was doing. He held onto Sherlock’s shoulders, unable to pull him closer, unable to push him away, unable to comment.

“I… love you, Greg…” Sherlock’s meekness abruptly increased, the further down his fingers went. His touch grew more hesitant. “I’ve no skill for it, I can’t do it on my own, but if you wanted to use me… even a little? If you could take even a little of what you need, that would be…” Fingers slowed with indecisiveness, before he could even finish in undressing Greg. “That would be...”

The familiar protective streak that John had come to identify with the nobleman surged forward to help Sherlock. Greg lowered his trousers himself, just enough to reveal the underwear beneath, and the profound arousal beneath that, all for Sherlock’s benefit. 

Sherlock was alive with courage again. Cautiously, he felt Greg’s skin, just above Greg’s underpants and below his undershirt.

Greg closed his eyes tightly, as if containing himself.

That increased Sherlock’s confidence a bit more. He traced along the line of the top of the underwear, making Greg shiver at the lightness of it. “That would be nice,” Sherlock said, with endless fondness. 

Without warning, tears spilled forth. 

Sherlock froze like ice. “Greg?” 

John was too alarmed by the tears to think straight. 

Beside John, Mycroft’s knuckles turned white.

“Damn it, I’m supposed to look after you, Sherlock,” Greg muttered, “not take advantage of you.”

“But why not? That’s what I want you to do!”

“No, Sherlock, that’s not… you’re such a sweetheart, but…” Greg shook his head. “No, I can’t want you like this…”

“Please,” Sherlock begged. “Please, don’t think about it. Use me.” He looked up at Greg with pure reverence. “I’ll be happy, you’ll be happy, and you’ll make it good for them to watch, too. Just, do whatever you want to with me, please!”

Poor Greg couldn’t bring himself to move. He seemed lost.

“What can I do,” Sherlock murmured, “to make me okay for you?”

Something in Sherlock’s voice helped Greg at last make a decision. He tenderly held his startled Sherlock around the ears. He brought his crotch to Sherlock’s face, and, as slowly as was humanly possible, and after an obviously pained struggle within himself, Greg lowered his clothed arousal to Sherlock’s lips, trying his best to guide Sherlock as to how the job was most easily done.

Sherlock followed Greg’s guidance. Cautiously, he sucked around his brother’s beloved, with the naiveté of an eternal novice. In this, as in many things, Sherlock was the picture of affection and innocence. 

“Sherlock.” Still crying, but gasping with pleasure, Greg shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock was too happy to care about whatever it was Greg was apologising for. He went along with the rhythm that Greg set, which was too slow and too considerate. Consequently, Sherlock took in barely any of Greg into himself at all, probably doing more to tease Greg than to satisfy him. 

Greg couldn’t get enough. “Sherlock…” His fingers curled somewhere inside of Sherlock’s curly hair. “You’re so good. Your brother’s… gonna kill me for this…”

“No, it’s fine,” Mycroft murmured. “It’s fine.”

Sherlock shivered helplessly at the sound of Mycroft’s approval. 

Greg exhaled shakily. “And John’s going to be furious…”

“John likes it, too,” Mycroft said.

That comment took John by surprise. He felt like he was dreaming. Sherlock and Greg made a brilliant picture. Although Sherlock was the one being made to give pleasure to Greg, the patient manner with which Greg made love to him, and the sounds of gratification that escaped Sherlock, gave the impression of something completely different. 

Most of all, John wondered what it might feel like, to be where Sherlock was. 

“Sherlock, your knees… will hurt, if you stay like that…” Greg stole himself away from Sherlock as he backed away, and stopped Sherlock by patting his forehead. 

Panic flared through Sherlock’s system. “No, wait, it’s not a problem—!”

“It’s all right,” Greg soothed him. “I’m not going anywhere.” He helped Sherlock to stand, and ushered Sherlock to the sofa, on the opposite side of Mycroft from John. “This will be better.” He kissed Sherlock’s cheek, and neck, and lower neck, doing his best to take his time and make clear his love for Mycroft’s younger brother. Then, Greg lifted himself up, with each knee coming around Sherlock, to slowly resume what he had been doing before. He picked up his pace, presumably to make up for his reluctance to use Sherlock moments before.

Sherlock was either intensely astonished or extremely overjoyed, or both. He made nothing of the fact that Mycroft was so close to them, staring at them without a word. Sherlock kept his eyes closed, putting off the knowledge of Mycroft’s and John’s closeness for as long as possible. He let Greg use him however he liked. 

Greg held Sherlock by the shoulders. “Is this better?” he asked with difficulty. 

Sherlock made the smallest of moans, still trying to be careful, and still trying to be useful.

“Damn it, you’re so good… God, damn it…” Greg groaned. “I really shouldn’t be doing this…”

Weakly, Sherlock held onto Greg’s hips, beckoning him to stay.

That nearly made Greg sob again. “Sherlock, you have to know how much I worry about you.” He breathed more deeply. “You and John… I want so badly for you two to be happy, to have what you need. Do you?”

Sherlock worked up the nerve to peek at Greg.

“Mycroft and I do that for you two, don’t we?” Greg asked, meeting his gaze. “We make you two happy?” Not that Greg could have received a verbal answer. 

Without looking away, Sherlock moaned desirously.

The profanity uttered under Greg’s breath came out with an obscene force. He moved more fluidly, trying in some incomprehensible way to make Sherlock even happier by seeking his own self-serving pleasure from him. 

Mycroft’s hands clutched themselves tightly.

Greg caught sight of that like a bird catches sight of its prey. John followed Greg’s downward line of sight, and discovered as a consequence how uncomfortably aroused Mycroft was.

It seemed to John that Mycroft was more than just flustered. It was rather like how Mycroft had seemed before: overwhelmed, and unable to cope with his feelings.

“D’you, like this, honey?” Greg asked. 

Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to answer that. John could see the struggle clearly. Mycroft’s wish for Sherlock to be perfectly protected was burning him, much in the same way as Sherlock’s wish to be useful had made him reclusive. They were both deeply invested in each other. It was all so absurd. 

Without thinking, John held Mycroft’s anxious hands, trying to make him feel the depths of John’s approval. 

The move startled Mycroft. There was something about it that he hadn’t been expecting. 

“It’s okay,” John said.

“John,” Mycroft murmured with the air of a guilty man, “I’m so very sorry.”

“But it’s okay.” Enough was enough. John could make things better. He could help. If Sherlock had the strength to be useful, then he could make the effort to be. 

Even though it was Sherlock, not him, who had secured the lust of both Mycroft and Greg, John knew he could still express his gratitude. He could still provide them some measure of stability.

“It’s, um, it’s okay, to like it.” John put both of his hands on Mycroft’s. It wasn’t easy to be so bold, but it was too important that John give Mycroft his unequivocal support. He’d done that this morning, too, hadn’t he? He’d helped Mycroft then. Mycroft had needed him then, too.

Mycroft shook his head. “But I—” 

Greg wasn’t able to bite back his groan any longer. The sound he made was all the louder for having been contained. 

Mycroft couldn’t help but look at the two again. 

“Sherlock,” Greg apologised. He was close. 

For his part, Sherlock was still embarrassed, but now he was wearing something like pride. 

John would have to be strong for Sherlock, too, he realised. He could make things better for all three of their love triangle. He knew then with certainty exactly what to do. 

Respectfully, he put a pillow on Mycroft’s lap, and then sat there, bringing Mycroft’s arms around himself. With his back to Mycroft, John held his breath, wondering with a new self-doubt if this would give Mycroft any peace. “Does this help?” John asked, bravely. 

The effects were almost instantaneous. Mycroft hugged him fiercely. And that alone made John intensely happy. He was at least useful to Mycroft.

But it was nothing like what had happened in the morning. 

Mycroft swiftly removed the soft barrier that John had placed beneath himself. “I never want this thing between us,” Mycroft said distastefully of it, and he put it back where it had been. “John, please, forgive me.” He pulled John’s lower body against his groin, and, ever so softly, sought a modicum of relief against John, rubbing clothes against clothes.

John’s eyes grew very wide. 

Mycroft winced with desire. He buried his face into John’s neck and hair, hiding himself, but it didn’t change the fact that John could hear something that alarmed and pained him. He heard Mycroft weeping, and he could feel Mycroft begin to shake.

“Mycroft?” Impossible feelings were emerging from somewhere so deep within John that he’d never before acknowledged them. There were feelings for Mycroft, and yet there was also even more than that, somewhere even further down.

“John, do you like this?” Mycroft’s breath was delightfully hot against John’s ear. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” John replied, and was taken aback by the way it made Mycroft shiver. John pulled Mycroft’s hands more securely around himself, hoping against all common sense that he could keep him there.

“You are so beautiful,” Mycroft murmured. “You feel… so good…”

“What do you want?” John asked, wishing desperately that he could do even more. 

Mycroft sobbed anew.

John tried to turn his head round to see what was the matter, but all he did see was that Greg had taken himself out of Sherlock, and was now folded in Sherlock’s lap. The two were entirely intent on watching Mycroft and John. Greg had a made a mess in his and Sherlock’s intertwined hands, but that detail interested John more than it interested either Greg or Sherlock at the moment. 

“I want… the impossible.” Mycroft’s motions against John were as delicate and well-articulated as everything that Mycroft did, and yet he could barely speak in this moment.

John blushed at all the attention that was on them. He tried to keep himself steady, even while Mycroft so kindly and so thoroughly made John a part of his rhythm. “Um, what’s impossible?”

“Not what,” Mycroft laughed sadly. “Who.”

There could be only one solution. “Sherlock?”

Mycroft didn’t deny it. “My baby brother…” 

“What?” Sherlock demanded excitedly. “Mycroft, what did you say? John, what did he say?”

Mycroft kissed John’s skin affectionately. “No… not my baby brother.” He turned John around, so that John was facing him, and could see his soft, tear-stained smile. “My baby brothers.” He hugged John, and continued to move against him.

Sherlock was thrilled. By all appearances he was about to hyperventilate. “Mycroft,” he pleaded. “Brother, what are you saying? How can you say that you want me? That you want us? Why didn’t you say so before? I don’t understand!”

Greg stroked Sherlock’s neck, and that seemed to help him become calm.

“Greg,” Sherlock said in a direct manner, as though Greg hadn’t been using him recently. “What’s the meaning of all this? Why didn’t he tell me that he wants me? Why don’t you tell…?” Whatever it was Sherlock was about to say, he caught himself just in time.

The effort was wasted, however. “Why don’t I tell John how much I want him?” Greg clarified sombrely. 

John gasped. Greg?

“Because,” Greg said, “you two are too precious to take risks with.”

John couldn’t immediately process whatever it was Greg had just said. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his head was light as air. It didn’t help much that Mycroft was using him, whispering kind praises to him and holding him like a treasure.

It was too much to take in. To learn that Greg, his first protector, would want that with John, for a more selfish reason than simply making John or Sherlock or Mycroft happy, was more than John was prepared for. Greg was his guardian, his god on earth. Greg had always been there for him, whatever the inconvenience. Greg was too good for him.

Ah! Was this how Sherlock felt?

\--

Greg didn’t disrupt Mycroft and John, not until Mycroft had lost himself handsomely in his own clothes. Mycroft, like him, had kept his feelings hidden for too long. 

The way Mycroft had held John to himself, kissing him and telling him how much he loved him as he used him for his own satisfaction, had stirred Greg in ways that he would’ve been hard-pressed to explain. Mycroft was his partner in everything, and John and Sherlock were no exceptions to that. Together, they could give their younger counterparts everything they could ever need, while they showed them how deeply they were loved and desired. With Mycroft’s help, Greg might even make up for all those years when John was alone.

At last, once Mycroft was recovered and John was awash with gratitude, Greg stood up. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Sherlock blinked, awakening from the daze he’d been under while watching Mycroft and John. “What?”

“I think the bedroom will be better for what I have in mind.” Greg reached out for John. “May I have him?” he asked Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Greg understood. Mycroft was as eager to see how he would be with John now, as Greg was eager to see how Mycroft would be with Sherlock. “I’ll take good care of him,” Greg promised. “That okay, John?”

John’s response was meek and adorable. “Uh huh.”

Greg lifted John into his arms. It was surreal. John seemed so spectacularly happy to be there. From observing the innocence of that face, Greg couldn’t believe that John knew the truth of all the obscene feelings that were in Greg’s heart.

Nonetheless, that left Mycroft and Sherlock sitting alone with each other on the sofa. 

Mycroft leaned over and whispered, “Do you forgive me?”

Sherlock was at the emotional edge, ready for nothing and expecting everything. He peered at the tear stains on Mycroft’s face, which Greg was sure mirrored the ones on his own. “For what, exactly?”

Mycroft wiped aside Sherlock’s hair, to better see his face. “For lying to you previously. I could say that I did plan on finding a way to tell you, but that would be meaningless now.”

Whatever it was that Sherlock saw in Mycroft had him hypnotised. “It’s… fine…”

“It is never my wish to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock stated, and he meant it.

That brought Mycroft no small amount of relief. 

“I get it. I should know, shouldn’t I?” Sherlock said quietly. “Getting used to wanting a brother is hard.”

Mycroft fully appreciated the sentiment. “Well, then. Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

Rather idly, Mycroft raised Sherlock’s hand for inspection. There were still remnants of Greg’s gratification splattered on it. He sniffed it.

Self-consciousness rose to Sherlock’s surface, even more than that which rose to Greg’s. “I don’t mind it,” Sherlock said uncertainly.

When Mycroft measured Sherlock with a glance, Greg knew exactly what Mycroft was thinking. Before he could say anything about it, however, Mycroft was already sucking one of Sherlock’s fingers clean.

Sherlock gasped.

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered. “Thank you,” he repeated, sounding much too pleased for having done something so small.

Or perhaps it was not so small. Sherlock blushed with a delightful passion. “C-Come on, Greg and John are waiting on us,” he managed to say. 

Greg and John exchanged a look. Neither of them had the heart to tell Sherlock that they could wait on Sherlock and Mycroft for as long as it took and not be bothered in the least. 

Mycroft conceded. “Of course.” He satisfied himself with holding Sherlock’s hand. 

Greg led the way to the bedroom, naturally. 

Under regular circumstances, Greg would have been more than glad to let things continue in the living room. There was one thing in particular, however, which had changed Greg’s mind about that. Quite frankly, he had remembered that jar that Sherlock had been looking at earlier in the day. There must have been a reason for that. Greg didn’t know what it was yet, but he was sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find out. 

Once Greg got to the bedroom, the first thing Greg did was set John at the foot of the bed and undress him for nighttime. Greg murmured softly to him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” John said, with all the gentleness in the world.

“John, before anything else happens. I need to make sure of something. Do you trust me?”

John hardly considered it. He hummed.

“You’re sure? Completely?” Cumbersome doubts lingered at the edges of Greg’s mind, apparently. At whatever the cost, he had to know that he was keeping John safe. “Even if we do things that you and I have never done before?”

John hummed again. “I trust you, Greg.” 

Greg exhaled. How could he ever hope to earn John’s kindness toward him?

Right behind them, Sherlock pulled Mycroft inside. “Come on.” He threw his own jacket off, and held his arms out to each side. “Come on, I’m all yours. Whatever you want to do, do it.”

Mycroft was slow to act. He took his time changing out of his dirtied clothes. “What’s the hurry?” 

“No hurry,” Sherlock answered on bouncing toes, “except that I’m standing here, and you’re standing there, and we both want this, don’t we?”

Greg wasn’t sure what game Mycroft and Sherlock were playing at, but it wasn’t one that he was about to interfere in. Besides, he was already well occupied. He’d helped John dress down to his undergarments, and was doing the same for himself. John watched him do so. It took all Greg’s willpower not to make flirtatious poses before that gaze. He didn’t want to scare John away.

“Do you trust me?” Prepared at last, Mycroft laid a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

As if he had to ask. Sherlock nodded.

“The agreement was that we would never do anything if I did not wish it. Was that not the condition?” Mycroft applied pressure to Sherlock, and like a doll, Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed beside John. “And I do not wish to hurry.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly. 

Greg laughed. That was a fairly clever thing that Mycroft had said, after all.

John anxiously adjusted his posture. “I, um, want to ask you something…”

Greg ceased laughing. “Huh? What’s up?”

“I know you already… did things with Sherlock…”

That fact didn’t matter very much to Greg, so it bothered him that John thought it would make any difference. “John. Listen.” Greg knelt in front of John, and held his knee. “However important you think you are to me, multiply that by a hundred. I know you want to be good for me… at least I think that’s what you want? But, there’s more to that than getting off. Just you sitting here in an undershirt, talking to me, letting me do whatever? That is plenty good for me.”

John looked down at his sparse clothes.

“The undershirt’s not the important part!” Greg insisted, with a raised brow. “Though that’s definitely a bonus. But it’s you who’s important. Everything about you. I like having you around, taking care of you.” He sighed. “But, I suppose I understand if all this romantic stuff is a bit unsettling, too. We’ve known each other for years, and now we’re trying something new together. It’s like what Sherlock said. There’s almost no way to get used to loving someone like this, huh?” Greg shrugged with a modest simper. “I suppose I’m also still, uh… how do I put it…?”

“Coming to terms?” John suggested. His need to be useful was so strong that it showed through his bashfulness. “With, um…” He blushed. “Wanting someone that you care a lot about?”

Greg smiled enthusiastically, and shook John’s knee. “Yeah! That’s it, exactly.”

John beamed joyously at the praise, unaccountably so, and Greg felt an all-encompassing peace that was unlike any he’d ever known before. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw that Mycroft moved Sherlock further up the bed, so that he was lying along it. Sherlock was on his stomach, making a blushing, mock-outraged face.

“Greg,” Mycroft asked softly, “would you mind if I used the lubricant? Or do you plan to use it?”

Sherlock’s expression took on an entirely different colour.

Floored, Greg stared at Mycroft. “Whoa. How did you know that, honey?” 

Mycroft blinked. “How did I know… what?”

“That Sherlock was eyeing that stuff earlier?”

Mycroft grinned, surprised. “Was he, now?”

“Greg!” Sherlock groaned. 

Greg scratched his head. “Oh.” That had been a coincidence, apparently. Like Greg, John was more baffled by the exchange than anything else.

Mycroft took the jar from the top drawer of the bureau, and then sat at Sherlock’s side. “Was there some use that you wanted Greg and I to make of this, brother mine?”

Sherlock folded his arms and sunk his face into them.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Mycroft assured him. “You know how much Greg and I enjoy putting on a show for the two of you.”

“Well, what were you going to do with it?” Sherlock demanded awkwardly.

“Whatever I wish.” Mycroft opened the jar, and dipped his hand into the substance. Once his hand was wet, he gently applied some to underneath Sherlock’s shirt, along his back. “Is this nice?”

“I suppose…”

Mycroft rubbed both his hands together, then pressed the two low into Sherlock’s back. 

Sherlock grunted. “Ah…”

“How is this?”

“That’s… nice, but why would you want to do this? No, never mind that…”

Mycroft spoke with a calm and collected tone. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s good… I’m merely… merely…”

Mycroft was always so thoughtful. “Still adjusting yourself to our new circumstances, I imagine?”

“Yeah… that.” Sherlock snorted mockingly at himself. “Even though I started all of it…”

Mycroft kissed Sherlock’s neck. “Leave everything to me, Sherlock. Relax. I will make it easy for you.”

Sherlock took his brother at his word. He let Mycroft massage him, and didn’t complain, but only made small and irregular noises of both humiliation and pure enjoyment. 

Greg was amazed by Mycroft’s masterful behaviour. The man never stopped surprising him. Greg wanted to be more like that, for John’s sake.

His dear, unselfish John wasn’t sure where to look.

Greg stood up. “You want to watch Sherlock, right?” He smiled at John. “Here, you lie down, too.” He laid John next to Sherlock, though on his back instead of his front. Greg rubbed John’s hip intently, softly and yet hard enough to make John whimper with guilty pleasure. “Go ahead,” Greg said. “Watch him all you like.”

John and Sherlock, breathing deeply, did look at each other, like teenagers in love.

“Do you want him?” Greg asked smoothly.

“Yes,” John murmured. 

That was too exciting to think about. Greg caressed over John’s thighs, down to his knees. It felt like such an unconscionable trespass, and, at the same time, it felt like he was simply giving John all his unconditional love. “How do you want him?”

“I don’t know…”

Greg smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll think of something.” He traced back up to John’s light shorts, and grabbed onto them. “Would you like it, if Sherlock put his hands on you, just like this?” Greg lowered John’s clothes, and saw with delight that John was growing larger as he spoke.

“Sherlock,” John whimpered.

“John.” Sherlock took hold of John’s hair, and kissed him.

Ignoring every little self-insulting thought in his head that ever made him doubt that he could give John what he needed, Greg slowly and fondly stroked John’s need.

It was even better than Greg had ever fantasised it. John moaned brokenly into Sherlock’s kiss, crumbling into Sherlock. Greg longed maddeningly to make that happen again and again.

Sherlock tilted his head back in amazement. His voice was deep and full of longing. “John?”

Mycroft lowered Sherlock’s clothes. “Sherlock, do you ever…” Mycroft cautiously caressed around Sherlock’s rear. “… want John, in this way?”

Sherlock shuddered. “Yes… but look at John…”

Greg lost his breath. In  _that_ way? Was that what Sherlock’s fascination with the jar had been about? Sherlock and John?

John must have been thinking something similar. Greg’s heart jumped when he felt John helplessly grow more erect underneath his palm. 

“It can be frightening at first, but I promise, it is perfectly all right.” Mycroft wet his hands again with the jar’s contents. “And it feels marvellous. It is intimate, and sweet.”

John moaned again. “Sherlock, you want that?”

“I, um.” Sherlock stuttered. John’s unexpected approval, combined with John’s strong responses to Greg’s touches, had upset Sherlock’s already precarious balance. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Certainly,” Mycroft went on, “I would help prepare you for him, when the time comes. Either Greg or me. There would be nothing for you to worry about.” Mycroft paused. “Can I show you what it will feel like, Sherlock?” 

A fresh disbelief met Mycroft’s question.

But Mycroft was serious. “I would like very much, to be the one to help you, to guide you,” he said. “I only wish to guide you, no more than that. Would you allow me that liberty?”

Sherlock took in a deep breath, but he could not refuse his brother’s only half-ambiguous request. The level of trust that existed between Mycroft and his younger brother was great indeed. “Yes.”

Delighted, Mycroft brought his hand to Sherlock’s rear. Greg couldn’t see exactly what was happening from his point of view, but he knew well enough what was about to proceed.

John was much less sure of his own guess. “Greg?” John murmured to him, with a sweetness that could have torn Greg apart. “Are they about to…?”

“One,” Mycroft said.

Then, Greg and John both heard Sherlock’s gasp. It was deafeningly loud in their ears.

While Mycroft was kind and considerate, his voice had dropped precipitously low. “Is this all right?”

“It’s...” Sherlock’s knees flexed, anxious. “It’s fine. Weird… but fine…”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, I think. It’s strangely… not bad. I can take more.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, but I will be the decider of that, brother dear.”

Sherlock humphed.

If anything, John was even more curious now. “Sherlock, is he…?” He couldn’t say it aloud.

Instantly all of Sherlock’s attention went back to John. He reached out to hold John’s hand. “I’m all right, I’m fine. More importantly, what is Greg doing to you?”

John’s cheeks were vivid with colour. “He’s, um… “

Greg covered for him. “I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do to him for way too long,” he confessed to them. He liked the way John looked at him when he said that. It gave him the irrepressible urge to go further. Greg descended down John’s body, and took John’s thick arousal into his mouth. 

John cried out in ecstasy. It was heavenly, rapturous music to Greg’s ears. Greg moaned quietly.

Sherlock stared hard, shocked and excited all at once. 

Mycroft could always recognise an opportunity when he saw one. “Two, now.” Mycroft must been adding another finger, and yet the transition was such a smooth one that Greg didn’t hear any particular reaction from Sherlock. “Is this all right?”

“Mycroft, can’t you see him? John is, is…!” Like John, Sherlock was too innocent, and perhaps too conflicted still, to verbalise the obsessive, obscene ways that Greg and Mycroft loved them.

“Being lovingly attended to? Yes, I see that.” 

That embarrassed John. Greg, meanwhile, exploded into cheerfulness inside of himself. It was okay if John and Sherlock couldn’t quite make sense of how Greg and Mycroft could want them like this, as long as they could make their two little ones happy all the same.

Mycroft leaned closer to Sherlock. “Is it difficult, Sherlock? Watching John be made to writhe in pleasure, so close to you?”

A powerful sensation, comprised of love and pride, welled inside of Greg. When he looked up, he could see John’s blissfully overwhelmed expression, which was creating so much curiosity and desire in Sherlock’s. John loved Sherlock, and yet not only Sherlock. At the moment, John was enjoying Greg. Greg was finally getting to be close to him like he wanted to be. As long as he remained this close to John, he could protect him and care for him without fail.

“Greg…” John’s fingers curled around Greg’s hair. “Thank you, for being my brother…”

Greg was so happy. He only just barely managed not to break out into tears again.

Sherlock cursed breathlessly. His hips moved by their own will against the bed.

“Not yet.” Mycroft pinned him efficiently down. “I need you to be still for me.”

“But John!” Sherlock protested, as if that name alone explained why he could not be still.

“Greg, please…” John shyly rocked against Greg. Every time Sherlock spoke, Greg felt a new needy movement from John. “More, please…”

Eagerly complying, Greg wondered if John would make these same noises, and move like this, if and when he ever coupled with Sherlock. The thought of their innocent love for each other made Greg hot from head to toe.

“Three, now,” Mycroft stated. “Three will be enough for the time being.”

“Brother, please!”

“Patience.” Mycroft began to move his guilty hand. 

Then, a few seconds later, Sherlock shook thunderously in his body. With the speed of a reactive flinch, he looked back at Mycroft with a confused, accusatory expression.

“Ah. There it is.” Mycroft’s eyes were lidded with arousal. He continued.

With a struggle, Sherlock’s head fell against the sheets. “That’s too much… You have to stop, or I won’t be able to stop myself… I can’t keep it in…”

“Quite so. That is the plan.”

“What? Are you serious? You can’t be serious, I don’t understand, you…” Sherlock cut himself off with his own moans. “You said you were going to use me…”

“I am using you.”

“But… but that’s not true—”

“Relax, little brother,” Mycroft said. “Everything is all right. Would you look at John, for me?”

Sherlock looked at John. Without warning, he grabbed John and hugged him from his side. John embraced him in return as best he could. Greg wished he could have had a portrait painted of how attached they were. They breathed and whimpered with one another, each accepting and cherishing the other without qualm. For all the feelings of security that their older counterparts wished to impart, there could be no substitute for the special sense of brightness and warmth that the two of them could create in each other’s arms. 

Infinitely impressed with his own partner, Greg gave Mycroft a supportive pat on the back.

Mycroft wryly returned the gesture. They may have thoroughly and completely damned themselves tonight, but at least, Greg knew, they would never be in it alone. Was it possible for him to fall in love with his generous Mycroft even more than he already had?

\--

John was too sleepy and content to get up. Or, that was his original motive for staying in bed, with Sherlock and a warm blanket wrapped around him. Besides, it was still too early in the morning for even Mycroft to rise. 

The sound of Greg and Mycroft talking quietly at the edge of the bed, however, proved to be an exception to the rule. Their voices were just as soothing as Sherlock’s body, and John found it a lovely thing to lie back and listen to.

“No, not yet,” Greg was saying. “I want to make sure they are all right when they wake up.”

“Then I will stay with you.”

“Somehow, I’m nervous about it. I’m sure they’re okay, but… I don’t know…”

“I feel the same way. They are precious.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I could never have done any of this without you, Greg.”

“Yeah?” Greg sighed. “I wonder if John will ever think of me like Sherlock thinks of you.”

Something awful curled inside of John’s chest at the sound of that. 

Thankfully, Mycroft was there to make things better. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”

“I haven’t always been there for John. I missed so much of his life. When he was having a hard time, I was off living my own life. I should have tried harder to help him out.”

John’s soul nearly ripped in two at the thought. He wanted to shout at Greg for having said something so far from the truth. The fact of the matter was that Greg had tried to help him. Even from afar, Greg had always been a fixture in John’s universe. It was John who had kept Greg at a safe distance. John had not felt himself fit to belong in Greg’s presence. Recalling all that they had gone through together in the meantime, John could scarcely believe the depth of his mistake in hindsight.

Mycroft was more empathetic to Greg’s feelings than John. “I see. I’m ashamed to admit it, Greg, but the same is true for me and mine. Sherlock and I have not always been as close as we are now. We were once… separate.”

There was a long pause. “What do you mean? You two are brothers. Are you saying that you two lived apart?”

“Not exactly. Rather, there was once a time when Sherlock and I, though we lived together, rarely saw one another. And it was all my own doing. I failed to make time for him. I didn’t perceive his loneliness, until later.”

“No… That’s not your fault. It sounds to me like you cared so much about him, even then.”

“Thank you. Though I loved him, I had doubted how much he loved me. Yet I have learned from it. Since that day, I have promised myself to him. I have made myself a constant, much as you have done for John.”

“You really think so?”

“Although I cannot presume to know the feelings of another person in their entirety… yes, I do think so. John loves you, dearly. And, that’s nothing to fear, is it?”

“That’s…” Greg giggled a bit. It sounded like a long overdue catharsis. “That’s nice of you to say. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“God, I love them so much, Mycroft.”

“I love them, too, Greg.”

Without moving, John peeked at Greg and Mycroft. He saw their backs, and their arms securely around one another. Even while they did their best to support John and Sherlock, they never stopped supporting each other.

John wanted more for them. To be sure of himself, he counted thirty long seconds of silence. Then, with confidence ready, he effected half-sleepiness. “Mycroft?” John mumbled drowsily, not bothering to open his eyes. “Greg?”

“John?” They must have both said the word.

John blindly held out one arm. “Sleep, please?” he asked in as cute a manner as possible.

“Yes, up here. Sleep,” Sherlock suddenly added with the same fake sleepiness, and John could feel Sherlock extend his own arm in a like manner. 

There was a moment of confused hesitation, but only a moment. Soon enough, John felt the distributed weight of Greg and Mycroft at his feet. That wasn’t what either John or Sherlock wanted, though.

John pulled at the one nearest him, Greg, and hugged him to the level of his blanket-covered chest. Sherlock turned onto his back and did the same for his brother. Greg and Mycroft went along with it, laughing at themselves and their new circumstance, and entirely unable to hide how much these simple hugs alleviated their most exhausting worries. 

This was good, John thought. All of them were happy, and free to be lazily on top of one another. There was nowhere any of them had to be. There was no barrier to keep them apart. They each accepted one another. There was nothing simpler than lying down together, but in the end, that was what they wanted most of all.

They didn’t do much for a while. Regardless, Sherlock soon abused the silence by rambling about how his experiment in the greenhouse might be coming along. After that, not one of them could give each other up for sleep.

End.


End file.
